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Updated: May 13, 2025
And his eyes, fastened upon King Hiram who stared at him maliciously, expressed well enough his desire for a negative reply. "Let him stay since he is here," said Antinea. She tapped nervously on the little silver tray. "What is the captain doing?" she asked. "He dined a while ago and seemed to enjoy his food," the Targa answered. "Has he said nothing?"
The Targa slave stood rigid before her, one hand on his heart, the other on his forehead, saluting. Antinea spoke in a hard voice, without looking at the man. "Why did you let the leopard pass? I told you that I wanted to be alone." "He knocked us over, mistress," said the Targa humbly. "The doors were not closed, then?" The slave did not answer. "Shall I take him away?" he asked.
"Dinner was excellent," I murmured, looking at myself in the mirror with satisfaction. "The apartment is perfectly arranged. Yes, but...." I could not repress a shudder when I suddenly recalled that room of red marble. The clock struck half past four. Someone rapped gently on the door. The tall white Targa, who had brought me, appeared in the doorway.
They brought a smile to Antinea's lips. She gave me a long, quiet look. "Aguida," she said to one of the Targa women, "you will give twenty-five pounds in gold to Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh." "You are a lieutenant?" she asked, after a pause. "Yes." "Where do you come from?" "From France." "I might have guessed that," she said ironically, "but from what part of France?"
I was suddenly bowled over, thrown to the ground, as if by a sort of meteor. The corridor was dark; I could see nothing. I heard only a mocking growl. The white Targa had flattened himself back against the wall. "Good," I mumbled, picking myself up, "the deviltries are beginning." We continued on our way. A glow different from that of the rose night lights soon began to light up the corridor.
We reached a high bronze door, in which a strange lacy design had been cut in filigree. A clear gong sounded, and the double doors opened part way. The Targa remained in the corridor, closing the doors after me. I took a few steps forward mechanically, then paused, rooted to the spot, and rubbed my eyes. I was dazzled by the sight of the sky.
It will be observed, that under the name of Targa Popolo, no mention is made of the Touaricks of Ghat. Indeed, all the notices of the Renegade Tourist on this part of Africa, are extremely meagre and unsatisfactory. As to his divisions of The Sahara into so many deserts, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, &c., this is all arbitrary and most unnatural.
See, in this connection, Duveyrier: les Tuareg du Nord, page 292. "Ferradji," angrily demanded the little officer of the Department of Education, "why were these gentlemen brought into the library?" The Targa bowed respectfully. "Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh came back sooner than we expected," he replied, "and last night the embalmers had not yet finished.
"What did he say?" asked Morhange, who had seen the gesture. "Blad-el-Khouf. This is the country of fear. That is what the Arabs call Ahaggar." Bou-Djema went a little distance off and sat down, leaving us to our dinner. Squatting on his heels, he began to eat a few lettuce leaves that he had kept for his own meal. Eg-Anteouen was still motionless. Suddenly the Targa rose.
"Do you know that?" Morhange asked him with keen curiosity. The Targa did not speak a word but his eyes had a strange light. "Do you know that?" insisted Morhange. And he added: "Antinea?" "Antinea," repeated the man. And he was silent. "Why don't you answer the Captain?" I called out, with a strange feeling of rage sweeping over me. The Targui looked at me. I thought that he was going to speak.
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